


Beyond Boundries

by Tyndale



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gay Male Character, High School, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-31 02:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyndale/pseuds/Tyndale
Summary: Duncan has everything a high school guy could ever want. As the star quarterback in a wealthy, suburban district in Colorado, he is living a life most could only imagine. Not to mention Duncan is lucky enough to attend the same high school as his childhood friend Nick. Things at school seem perfect, that's until the new student named Landard arrives. MxM, Gay Romance.





	1. Beyond Boundries

I'm not saying I've never seen a black person. That's not what I'm saying at all. But in the suburban parts of Colorado, it's pretty rare. So, when I saw him the first time, I wasn't sure my eyes were working right. Once, during my sports physical, the doctor said I'd need glasses but hell, I don't wear 'em. Jerry rode my ass one day about them.

He said, "Quarterbacks don't wear glasses. Take those things off!"

I never wore them again.

From what I've heard, everyone is calling him Landard Jackson. The name rolls off my tongue pretty weirdly. I tried saying his name before but it still comes out a bit strange. Today, I'm being kind of a stalker. I'm just curious, really. I mean, the guy looks different from everyone here. And well, I like different. I like when things stand out.

Of course, I feel like an obvious stalker. Standing by the side of the classroom door, with my cellphone out, head down, and eyes glued to the screen doesn't appear inconspicuous. I'm right out in the open but I don't want to miss him as he walks by.

Out the corner of my eye, I suddenly see the guy approaching. There's no mistaking him. He slowly walks by me and I smell his cologne. It's nice―very strong. It makes for a lasting impression. Right as he enters the classroom, I follow behind, taking a few seconds to check Landard out more fully.

His clothes are really baggy. Nothing is tight on him. Even his dark jeans sag around his waist, which is surprising because he's wearing a belt. His shirt is a lighter color but nothing name brand. It's plain but he makes me want to buy a thousand shirts like the one he has on.

"Take a seat, Duncan. Class is about to start, young man."

Mr. Richard points to my seat. I'm instantly embarrassed. I catch Landard's stare for a split second and then suddenly, he looks away, directing his eyes toward the window.

I move toward my group of friends at the back of the room. Being the star quarterback pretty much allows me to do whatever the fuck I want to do. I'm also always surrounded by people who will do anything I say.

"Why were you looking at that guy?"

Nick Shuller is my best friend since...well, since forever. I guess you could say our friendship was destined. We were four at the time and his mother and my mother were friends. We'd have play dates together and since elementary, it was hard to ever see us separated from each other.

"Why are you watching me again," I ask back.

I have to admit, although we're close, Nick can be an asshole sometimes. He reminds me of my parents. I can't seem to get him to understand I'm my own person. When we were growing up, he felt the need to be my big brother. And for awhile, I liked him being my protector.

Now, however, I'm not the shy, scared kid he sheltered back in middle school and elementary. High school changed me. I mean, I still get butterflies in my stomach, but that's not to say I can't handle myself.

"I'm not the only one that saw you," his back is pressed against the chair. He slightly tilts the seat as his eyes gaze up at the ceiling, "Anyway, I'm just asking, bro. You just seem overly interested in him."

"He's new to the school. It wouldn't be a bad thing to just introduce ourselves. What's wrong with saying hi or something?"

"Nothing is wrong with it but," Nick suddenly turns to me. His voice lowers, " you know, he's black. And black people aren't nice so, let him be."

I don't say anything else to Nick. He's still giving me a serious stare, like he's waiting for some type of response. I don't give him one. Mr. Richard is being a prick again by pointing and yelling at us to be quiet and pay attention. Nick finally turns away and resumes eyeing the ceiling, like something up there is interesting.

My attention, however, is back on Landard. I don't believe anything Nick said. And I can prove to him that he's wrong.

"There you go again," Nick mocks, causing me to blink and focus my attention else where.

" Shut up about it, okay," I snap. I wish he'd leave me alone.

"Mr. Moore and Mr. Shuller, care to share your little discussion back there!"

I hear David, the blond guy in front, sternly whisper, "Shut the fuck up because if he walks back here, I'll have to put my phone away and I'm on level 20!"

The class ends with me, David, and Nick being quiet during Mr. Richard's lecture. When it's time to go, I hesitant on purpose. I tell Nick to wait for me outside because I have to talk to the teacher. He nods, throws his brown backpack over his shoulder, and walks out the room with David, who is still playing a game on his phone.

Really, I'm not a shy guy. I mean, I used to be but lately, I feel like I'm bold enough to do certain things. But for some reason, I feel nervous as I walk over to Landard. I shouldn't be this uneasy. He's just a normal guy like me. Yeah, he dresses differently and looks different, but we're all the same in the inside. That's what my mom is always insisting. Still, I'm fucking nervous.

"Hey," I manage to say.

Brown eyes look directly at me. Seeing Landard from afar revealed some interesting features but up close, I notice he has bright, clear eyes. They're piercing and strong. I feel a bit intimidated, which is weird because all he just did was look at me.

"Yeah, what's up," was the gruff reply.

I don't think he wanted me to answer because he starts to pack his books and paper. I expected his attention after he greeted me, but he's not giving me even a second glance. It's as if he's instantly uninterested.

"Uh," I think of something to say as I watch him continue packing, "nothing, I guess. Um, I'm Duncan."

"Land," is the single word said.

"Land?" I'm perplexed.

"You can call me Land. It's short fo' Landard."

I'm shocked when he looks my way again. His eyes jolt me, causing my heart to rapidly beat. I know being close to him would rattle me a bit. But seriously, right now, I feel like my heart might explode. I know I shouldn't be this shaken up. It's not like he's going to hurt me. But this neighborhood and the people here, have me convinced I should keep a distance from anyone who doesn't look white. My friends even feel the same exact way. Regardless of what they think, I want to think for myself.

"So," I hesitant for a moment, nervous about offering any assistance to him. He looks well prepared and I doubt he couldn't find his next class. But I want to make a good impression. I think I want him to see that I'm cool with him being the way he is.

"You know, I could help you find your next class. I'm pretty familiar with the campus."

"Nah, I'm good," he brushes my offer aside, turns away, and starts walking toward the door.

I watch him for a few seconds. What he said wasn't awful but I'm not used to rejection. I think my approach was respectful enough but he seemed interested in avoiding me. And well, people don't avoid me. Actually, people love me. They desperately want my attention. So, I'm curious why the cold shoulder. Anyway, I'm not going to admit Nick was right. Black people aren't mean. Maybe he's being cautious. I might have come on too strong.

"Hey, are you coming?"

Nick is looking at me like an impatient girlfriend. I swear, he gets on my nerves sometimes. In the hallway, I walk with Nick on my left and David on my right. Some girl, wearing a red mini skirt and white, see-through blouse, calls my name. This chick claims she has a huge crush on me but I heard she likes everyone on the football team.

"Cutie," she teases, "I just want one date!"

I walk with Nick nudging my side, as if he wants me to stop and give this girl exactly what she wants.

"You're too picky," Nick nags.

"You're not picky enough. If you like her, you date her," I push him away, preventing his big elbow from nudging my side again.

He snaps his tongue. Nick only does this when I piss him off―like truly piss him off. "Whatever, dick face! You're a sophomore and still a virgin. I'm just looking out for you, bro. Appreciate me, okay!"

My mom used to tell me all the time the truth hurts. It does hurt. The truth is: I am exactly what he says I am. I'm a virgin sophomore and in a couple of months, I'll be a senior who is still a fucking virgin. No one can understand it. Hell, I can't either.

I'm a good looking guy. My mom says I have eyes like my dad. They're a nice blue―big and bright. I have a slender build but it's because of my position. I'm not on my bones but I'm not fat either. Girls like me. Guys want to be like me. By now, I should have fucked someone, but I haven't.

" You'll die a virgin, man!"

If not for our friendship, I think I would have punched Nick. Instead, I walk quickly away from him, ignoring his shout for me to wait up. I go to my next class pretty pissed and the anger doesn't settle down. Right after the last bell, I high tail it off the campus, heading straight for the student parking lot.

On my way to the lot, I see plenty of people I know. Some wave to me and I wave back. The football guys are sitting in their muscle cars, revving their engine to get my attention. I shot a bird, feeling half amused and half jealous that their parents got them such cool rides. My mom is practical and so is my dad. She's into the, "I want you to be safe" and so I'm stuck with a Hyundai Sonata. It was either this or a Subaru Outback and I hate both, really.

The best thing about the car its alarm. I love beeping this damn thing off. It's the one thing I have to be proud about. I throw my backpack into the back seat. I'm ready to hit the road. I might go sightseeing to level my head after the crap Nick said to me.

Just when I have the engine warm, Landard passes by on his bike. I'm used to seeing sport bikes around here. He's riding something I've not seen before. Like ever! It's low to the ground with big, silver wheels and high handle bars. Everyone is staring at him and for good reason. He looks out of the ordinary riding that thing. But he does it while looking so fucking damn cool.

Right away, I know I want to offer him a ride. I have to admit, what Nick said made me more interested. Mainly, because I wonder if it's really true. Are all the things I heard about people like him, is that stuff for real? Can I really prove Nick wrong?

I watch as Landard nears an intersection. I stop my car a few feet ahead of him. In a rush, I press the window button on the side panel. The window quickly slides down, allowing all the noise from the traffic to enter my car.

"Land!"

He stops pedaling to turn my way. Immediately, his stare freezes me up. I want to speak but can't find the words. I know I look like an idiot to him.

"Yeah," he answers which is surprising because I thought for sure he'd start pedaling away.

"Uh," I'm doing this uh business with him too much, "need a ride home?"

"Nah, I'm alrigh'."

I was brushed off before but I don't want to be brushed aside again. Twice in a row is too much. I know I shouldn't take any of this to heart but I am. Like, why won't he just let me help him?

"You sure," I try again, hoping this time he'll budge.

"I gotta go," and that's when he starts pedaling again.

I don't drive off yet. I'm still kind of shocked by his attitude. But I swear I'm going to find out what this guy is all about...


	2. Misunderstanding

So, yeah, officially, I'm Landard's stalker. We have three classes together and pretty much in every class, I'm watching him. For two straight weeks, I've been noticing things about him. When he's bored, he flips his pencil back and forth between his fingers. It's a cool little trick. I suck at it, though.

I also noticed he eats a bunch of crap but never seems to gain anything. How he eats, he should be a thousand pounds. Instead, his body is lean with a slight build. In the department of muscles and mass, he trumps my physique. I'm not a little guy but Landard could easily take me out. Although I think we're about the same height. Nevermind, he might be a few inches taller but not that much.

Inside the cafeteria, everyone is rushing around. It's like a fucking zoo in here sometimes. As usual, the clicks separate. The jocks sit towards the back of the cafeteria and the goths sit towards the corner away from the windows. And the hot girls, the cheerleaders and such, have the front toward the main doors, so they can grin or sneer at anyone who enters.

Immediately, the IT girls spot me. They're all grins and smiles. The girl who has a crush on me giggles and waves as I walk by. Her girlfriends start to whisper and I hear this chick say, "I'm serious, I wanna fuck him."

I bet she's dead serious.

I keep moving through the aisles of tables until I see Landard. His back is facing me and just like two weeks ago, he's sitting by himself.

I take a deep breath. The knot in my stomach only worsens. I know I'm panicking because all the noise around me has vanished. All I can hear is the sound of my heart thumping. Even my throat feels dry. All of a sudden, I'm having the hardest time lifting my feet, like they've suddenly turned to stone. It's like I can't go any further.

Even worse, my cafeteria tray is starting to tremble in my hands. I know I should just turn back now. I'm in no condition to approach him. Chances are, I'll end up saying uh again and looking like a fool.

But damn, I've come this far. I minus well just try.

"Hey, Land."

I meet Landard's gaze.

"Uh…"

Damn it!

"Mind if I join?"

As cool as he is, I should have expected him to only give me a nod of approval. And the nod alone sends my nerves into overdrive. What the hell was I thinking? I finally arrived at the point where he accepts me and now I don't know if I can even talk to him. What do we even talk about?

Our classwork?

No.

Maybe if he has a girlfriend?

Hell no!

"You play any sports," that's the best I can come up with as I take a seat next to him.

"Basketball," he answers, then he starts chewing on a slice of pizza.

His one word answers kill me because I have nowhere to go from there. I keep thinking he'll give me more details but that's just the stalker side demanding something it really doesn't need.

"I play football," I take a drink of my Coke because my throat feels really tight. "Ever thought of joining a team?"

"Nah," and he takes another bite of pizza.

"You might like football. I could get you on," I want to impress him. Really, I couldn't get him on the team instantly, like how I'm phrasing it but with some convincing, I could eventually.

Landard doesn't pay me any attention. I think he's not interested anymore. I can only imagine the short conversation we had was pretty boring. I'm not sparking his attention at all. Normally, people can't get enough of my interaction. I'm the one hounded with questions about what I like and what I might do today.

I feel like I'm getting nowhere with Landard. I guess I should say, I may be gaining some ground with him but it's awfully slow. Two weeks and all I get is: Basketball and nah. He's like one of those oyster shells. I want to pry him open and see what's inside but I keep failing.

"Well," I'm going to give up today and see if I can do something tomorrow, " uh, I'll see you around, Land."

"Alrigh,'" but his eyes are staring elsewhere and his lack of interest makes me feel like I've been shot through the chest.

I lift from the seat and turn to leave. Just as I swing around, I notice Nick. He's fuming but the anger it's directed at me. His glare is fixated on Landard and I have no clue why. There isn't time to ask him why he's looking this way. Before I can react, his hands are grabbing at Landard's shirt.

Nick is a linebacker, so it doesn't take much for him to push me aside. I fall back, dropping the cafeteria tray to the ground. My food spills everywhere. I hear the roar of the people around me as they shout, "Fight, fight, fight!" Everything feels like it's in slow motion. Watching Nick pull back his fist reminds of those instant-play movies, where you have control of how fast or slow something moves. I want to press pause right now. Nick's fist is so close to Landard's face, the impact of the punch is maybe nanoseconds away.

The moment Nick sucker punches Landard in the jaw, everything speeds up again. All the shouting intensifies and my entire body is on edge. I snap out of my shock. I jump to my feet, instantly feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

"Back off, Nick," I charge at him, shoving his big body the best way that I can. He's like a fucking boulder. My shove did nothing. It didn't even deter him. He's still hungry for another go.

"He thinks he owns this place," Nick huffs angrily, "he doesn't own shit around here. Especially not Nathan's girl!"

Nathan is one of the linebackers on the football team. His girlfriend is Beth Holly. She's a pretty girl and Nathan isn't the only one that likes her. I know her reputation but Nathan likes to think he's the only one for her. Lately, I noticed she's been eyeing Landard but the guy hasn't paid her any attention. I rarely see them together. I know this because I'm always watching Landard. The most the two of them do is exchange glances.

I don't know what the hell Nick is doing. I understand his temper is a bag of hot coals but beating someone up over nothing isn't his typical MO. He's more of a fault-finding, yell in your face until you give up, or secretly plot revenge kind of guy. I'm not saying Nick couldn't beat up an idiot or two. I'm only saying that's not ever his first option.

"What the hell are you talking about," I try to get the block head to think about what he's doing because I don't believe he's aware. At the moment, Nick is 220 pounds of fucking hot, boiling anger and there's not an ounce of logic in his brain.

"Beth is saying she's leaving Nathan for this piece of shit," was his answer, "I won't let that happen. Nathan is my friend and I'm standing up for him!"

Nick needs to feel like he's everyone's big brother. When anything gets out of hand, I'm never surprised to find him meddling in other people's business. If he doesn't stop this kind of stuff, he's going to be like those guys who kill their mistress' husband, just so they can feel like they're protecting a damsel in distress. When actually, nothing that's happening is any of his damn business!

As I see it, Nathan's girl is Nathan's girl and if she's leaving, then there's nothing he can do about it.

"What does any of this have to do with you," I yell, challenging his stupid, little brain to just consider what he's gotten himself into.

"Shut up, Duncan and move the hell out of the way," his voice is scariest I ever heard it. He's breathing like a crazed animal; literally huffing through his nostrils and glaring as if his gaze could lift me, sending my body flying through the air.

"No," I stand my ground.

If Nick pushes me again, I'm ready to fight. Even if he doesn't touch me, if he even takes one step closer, I'll drill his jaw with my fist. To my shock, Nick just doesn't take a step forward. He charges, full force, and knocks me straight on my back. When you have pads and football gear on, an impact like this wouldn't be so bad. But I have no protection and slamming into the cold, hard cafeteria floor sends shockwaves of pain along my back. I'm stunned by the force of Nick's gigantic body laying on top, his chest pressed to mine, as he heaves his hot breath in my face. I'm expecting the idiot to punch me right between my eyes but he doesn't. Instead, he lifts and spins around to focus his attention on Landard.

I strain to sit up at the waist. What feels like pins and needles suddenly races to the area of my spine. I reach back with my hand, attempting with great discomfort to try and sooth the area. I feel helpless as I watch Nick pummel Landard in the face and chest.

"Get the hell off him," my voice is strained and shaky. I know I can't do anything to stop Nick. I hate feeling helpless. I hate knowing that even if I yell at the top of my lungs, Nick isn't going to stop. And that pushes me to a place I never like being. Like right now, I'm at the point of losing all my self-control for my friend. I feel like fucking obliterating him!

"I said stop, Nick!"

In a rush, the resource officer runs over. I'm wondering what took this guy so long to show up. Normally, he's always around but it seems like today everything is amiss.

"Stand down," the officer shouts at Nick but of course, my friend doesn't listen. " Hey, I said stand down!" Officer Skipper grabs the linebacker's shirt and pulls roughly, quickly gaining the upper hand. Nick is slammed backwards, rolled onto his belly, and both hands are restrained behind his back.

"Don't resist, do you understand?"

"Let me up! Let me the fuck up," there's this crazed madness in Nick's voice. I've never seen him this way. Never.

Another resource officer arrives but this is the first time I've seen him. He's white with dark brown hair. He looks astonished, like what he's seeing is new for him. I watch as he kneels beside Landard. My immediate thought is to get my ass on my feet and join the resource officer. Thankfully, the pain has subsided, but I know I have to be careful as I stand up.

I take my time lifting. Everything feels normal. I mean, my legs aren't numbing up, so I decide to jog over to Landard and the officer. Right away, the cop stares up at me.

"You know him?"

"His name is Landard Jackson," I tell the guy, my voice is still shaky. I'm nervous as hell because of everything that's happened. It's one thing to witness a fight but being a part of them is an entirely different ball game.

"Landard," he looks back down, "Can you stand? We need to get you to the clinic."

Blood is dripping down Landard's nose and staining his blue shirt. There's so much blood, you would think the Polo was actually red.

"Let me help you up," is my offer.

Landard doesn't take my outstretched hand. He decides to lift himself up from the floor on his own. First, he starts by sitting upright. He turns sideways to balance on his knees. Then finally, he slowly lifts to stand. It's not a perfect lift and the officer quickly grabs Landard's shoulder to prevent him from tipping over. I watch the whole thing painfully.

Nick is my friend. I know Landard know this. He's seen us together. And I guess the last thing Landard wants to do is touch me. But he can't deny I was trying my best to defend him in the situation. I had his back. I didn't want Nick to follow through with this ridiculous fight. But maybe those facts don't matter, because I'm still the bad guy, right?

"Young man, come with us. I'll need a statement. You did see what happened, didn't you?"

I get out of my feelings and answer the officer's question, " Yes, I did." I use this opportunity to convince Landard I'm not the evil one here, "I was trying to break it up, sir."

"Okay. Come on, then."

Landard is walking in between me and the officer. The hallway seems eerily quiet. I can't hear anyone inside the classrooms. We pass door after door and all my anxiety worsens. I'm feeling my throat tighten, which causes me to swallow hard. I know I'm not in trouble. I didn't do anything wrong. My concern, like always, is Landard. He's not making a sound.

I'm expecting to hear groans of pain, him yelling about what happened, or even cursing Nick to fucking hell. He's doing absolutely none of those things. There's no way he's okay with what happened. He should be screaming his head off at the officer―for getting there too late and myself―for being friends with a jackass like Nick. Besides, he has every right to be upset!

"Land," I call his name quietly, " are you alright?"

I know. I know. This has to be the dumbest question to ask him right now, but I'm just hoping he'll give some type of reaction. Like, because, at this moment, he's just walking silently to the office like there's no soul inside his body.

"Go ahead and go inside," the officer tells us. The walkie on his hip relayed a message which I guess this means he has to go. "I'll be right back," is his departing promise.

The nurse's office is a small room. It's beside the main office and because it's so small, there are chairs in the hallway and they're lined up against the wall. I open the door for Landard. He still hasn't answered me and I doubt he will. What I asked wasn't an important question. I just asked it because I wanted him to talk. I want to know if things between us are cool. Well, things were never cool between us but I hate to think he believes I'm like Nick, when I really am not!

"Oh my god," Ms. Leslie, the nurse, drops her pen and yellow note pad. The stuff falls to the floor. She walks over quickly, scanning Landard over with her green eyes.

"What happened," when she asks the question, Ms. Leslie is reaching for a pair of gloves from the box on her desk. Since she isn't looking at me or Landard, I decide to speak.

"There was a fight, Ms. Leslie."

Her gloved hand reaches beneath Landard's chin. She tilts his head back, examining his nose structure. Her petite fingers move up and down the basketball player's nose, as if she's checking for something in particular. Then, with a relieved sigh, Ms. Leslie snaps off her gloves, tossing them in the trash bin by her desk.

"Your nose isn't broken. You'll be fine," her smile is warm and friendly but Landard doesn't return any emotion. She still continues with being gentle.

"I have uniform shirts in a box. You can have one, just tell me your size."

He hesitates but says in a low tone, "Large."

I bet it's a large because of his shoulders and wide back. Of course, none of this should matter. But hearing about his shirt size makes me feel like I'm getting to know him, even with little details like this.

"Okay," Ms. Leslie doesn't stop smiling. She's always been extra friendly, " orange, blue, or white?"

I know the answer.

"Blue," Landard tells her.

Bingo! He may have never told me personally but when a guy comes to school wearing only blue, one can only assume he has a thing for that color.

"I'll be right back," I hear her heels clanking against the school floor, as she walks away.

We're alone in the room together. He's sitting on the examine table while I'm sitting in one of the chairs by the door. He doesn't look at me but I can't stop staring at him. There's dried blood under his nose. He'll need to clean that off. After seeing him this way and feeling like it's my fault, I don't hesitate―well, I do hesitate for a few seconds but eventually, once I get my nerve back, I lift to my feet. I walk over to the sink inside the room. The water is cool on my fingers as I wet a small paper towel. When it looks damp enough, I turn the water off and make my way over to Landard.

Standing in his way causes the basketball player to finally look at me. I'm a statue under his gaze. I'm convinced his eyes have some sort of special power...I don't know if it's just me but when I look at them, there's this weird feeling that surfaces. Two weeks ago, I remember sensing discomfort and a bit of intimidation. What I'm feeling right now is different. I can't explain it other than it's strange. And because staring at Landard feels weird to me, I drop my gaze down toward the floor. I feel like a total dumb ass because I'm really letting his eyes get to me.

"You have," my voice breaks due to my horrible ability to fucking swallow right now. I cough before saying the next words, "some blood under your nose."

I offer the paper towel by placing it on the examine bed. Instead of looking in his eyes, I'm fixated on the napkin, hoping to see his hand reach for it. If he takes it, I know it'll mean he's accepting my friendship. That he can't possibly believe me and Nick think the same way. As I wait to see his reaction, Ms. Leslie comes back with a blue shirt with the school name embroidered on the back.

"You can change behind the curtain," her slender finger points to the long, white drape to the left of the room.

I back away, allowing him to lift from the examine bed. He doesn't say a word to me or Ms. Leslie. He just walks toward the back, pulls the curtain backwards, and then swings it forward, shutting himself off from our gaze.

"He doesn't talk much," is the whisper near my ear.

"I know," is my reply.

"Normally, students are overly excited by fights and I can't get them to calm down. He's very calm, however."

Maybe too calm. I want to tell Ms. Leslie this but Landard comes from behind the curtain. The shirt fits him nicely and except for the blood under his nose, he doesn't look any different from his normal self. I watch as he walks toward us. I want to believe he'll now take the paper towel from the examine table but he doesn't. Instead, Landard uses the sink to wash the blood away. Seeing him do this causes the muscles in my chest to clench. My breathing becomes shallow as if the signals to my brain and lungs aren't working. I'd be naive to assume he just forgot about the napkin I offered. It's fair to say he's avoiding my help on purpose.

"Ms. Leslie," the officer from earlier pokes his head inside the small room, " I need to talk to Mr. Jackson. Is he all better?"

"Yes," she nods with a smile.

The resource officer's gaze switches to me, "You can head back to class. Officer Skipper took statements from a few of the other students."

I look at Landard. I refuse to consider what Nick said about black people. I quickly exit out the clinic, walking briskly down the hall to my next class. Before the week is up, I have to find out why Landard acts the way he does.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been three weeks and I haven't found out why Landard acts the way he does. But at least last week, Nick decided to apologize. I think he got the message. We have four classes together and I was refusing to sit next to him. I guess the rejection bothered him because on Thursday, right after class, he followed me to the school parking lot and stood directly in front of my car.

The story is long but I'll explain everything the best way I can. So, I'm sitting in the car with the engine on. At the time, I was really pissed at him. I was so mad I could have pressed on the gas. I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt Landard. But he was making this pathetic face, and I started to feel sorry for him. Eventually, I turned off the engine. He took this as an invite to come sit with me. When he opened the car door, I noticed his hands were trembling. He'd been sweating because I could smell it on his shirt. My car isn't super huge, so when he sat down in the passenger seat, the car rocked back and forth just a little.

"I'm sorry, okay," he started, "I was upset and," his voice trailed.

Nick has been a tough guy for years. When we were in elementary school, he defended me all the time—even when I was wrong. I'm used to seeing him throw his weight and attitude around like he couldn't give a damn about anyone else. But I think when it comes to me, he acts different. And that day, when he sat in my car, he wasn't himself. After a few minutes of silence, he finally confessed and said, "I wasn't going to hurt you. I only wanted to bash that asshole's head in but you got in the way. And I'm sorry I tackled you like that. You're like my…"

"Like what," I pressed him hard because I wanted to know what he was going to say.

He didn't say anything right away. It took him awhile before he said, "You mean alot to me, alright."

This wasn't what he wanted to say. I knew it wasn't. He hesitated too long. It didn't matter to me because I only wanted to hear him beg for my friendship again. He screwed things up and saying sorry wasn't enough.

"Well, what are you trying to say?"

Once I got the question out, I guess he decided to stop beating around the bush. His eyes looked up. I stared back, anticipating his answer. Nick moved slowly towards me, his upper chest leaning closer to mine. I could really smell his sweat. The cologne he wore didn't mix well with the musk. As he inched closer, I realized how uncomfortable this situation made me feel. I was ready to pull backwards― even worse, punch him. But Nick stopped moving and suddenly placed his hand on my shoulder. We were face-to-face in the car, probably appearing like we'd kiss. If anyone saw how close Nick was to my face, they would have assumed that's what we were about to do.

"Duncan, I wanna," he eyes looked beyond me toward someone who was obviously at the window.

I was glad there was a distraction because things had gotten disturbing. When I had turned around, a girl Nick knew was waving at the both of us. She smiled at me and then made a gesture for Nick to get out of the car.

He wiped his forehead as he told me, "That's Elizabeth."

I saw her hanging around him before but never cared to ask who she was. I still don't care.

"I told her I'd go bowling," he said, "Did you want to come?"

I refused the invitation. I wasn't in the mood to hang out. Then, as he moved to open the car door, he told me, "Like I said, Duncan, I'm sorry. Okay. Can we just go back to normal?"

I considered the answer I wanted to give. Nick had a lot of problems but I cared about him. Things between us hadn't always been good. We had arguments and we've both been known to shove each other around. And I swear, I hated what he did to Landard, but at least the dick head apologized. Plus, I think he learned his lesson. A week without my company was hell for him and I doubt he'll ever upset me like that again.

"Yeah," was my answer to him. Since then, everything has been cool with me and Nick, but...not so much with Landard. Even though I'm not getting anywhere with him, I'm not ready to admit Nick was right. I don't want to believe what my friend said. The way he thinks is like everyone else in this neighborhood:

_**Different is bad.** _

_**Blacks are evil.** _

_**We're better than them.** _

I think I just want to find out for myself without being told. That's why I'm going to give myself another try. I know where he is today. In fact, I followed him to the park. Well, I didn't exactly walk behind the guy like a stalker. I kept my distance so he wouldn't figure things out. He's standing under a picnic shelter. The top of the place has a huge trapezoid frame, much like those old pizza hut buildings―minus the bright red color. The stuff around here is fairly new but for some reason, Landard is using one of the old shelters no one uses―and for good reason. No one uses it because it's in the middle of a bunch of thick trees and mosquito infested bushes.

I already know if I head toward the shelter, he'll spot me right out and think this is crazy. But if I pretend to jog along the path, maybe he'll believe our meeting is just a coincidence. I'm dressed like a jogger, anyway. I have on gray shorts, my Nikes, and a white, plain shirt. I start out jogging toward the picnic hut, keeping along the cement walkway. As I get closer, my unease picks up. I can feel the tight squeeze that's clenching my lungs. And I know this feeling has nothing to do with the jog. I run all the time.

I realize the shelter is only a few feet away. There's no backing out now. To draw his attention, I stop in the middle of a clearing that's right in front of the shelter. Where I stand, I know he'll be able to spot me. I'm not looking for this to be a sneak attack. As I stand here, I pretend to take a break. I bend forward, clench my knees, and take huge, deep breaths. I should have heard something by now. Like the sound of his shoes crushing the leaves or the shout of my name. I'm only hearing the annoying sound of bugs flying near my ears.

"Damn it," I swat a mosquito off my arm.

There's still no reaction. I decide to cut the horrible act. As I smack another bug off my arm, I turn to look at the picnic shelter. To my complete shock, Landard has his back to me. No wonder I wasn't getting any reaction. I still don't want this to be a sneak attack. But just walking down to the shelter isn't an option either. I guess I'll just have to take a direct approach. Maybe he won't think any of this is fucking weird. Besides, we live in the same neighborhood.

"Hey, Land," I call his name from the pathway. I wave just in case he turns around and can't spot me.

As I walk toward the shelter, I notice Landard is sitting on the top of a picnic table. His light brown, Timberlands are on the bench part. Even at my distance, I notice the blue shirt he's wearing. It's loose on him, just like his pants. He has this thing about wearing cool ass belt buckles with loose fitting pants. The last belt buckle I saw him wear said: King Me. I laughed a little when I saw it.

"What's up," he's cool and calm when he says this.

While he's all smooth and relaxed, I'm like a bubbling volcano in the inside. I want to try and take a few deep breaths, but I doubt he'd want to talk to someone who looks like he's hyperventilating. To calm myself and distract my anxiety, I hop up on the picnic table across from him. I keep my head down as my eyes stare at the cement covered in crawling ants and dried up leaves.

"Wha'ch want?"

I don't know how to answer the question. So, I just lie, "I was jogging and saw you out here."

"Yeah, but wha'ch want, though," he says persistently.

He wants to know what I want but my answer would definitely offend the guy. If I told him I was out here because I wanted to prove black people aren't mean, I think he'd punch me in the throat.

"Nothing," is my response.

I find the courage to look up. Now that we are kind of talking, I don't feel as nervous as earlier. We stare at each other for a moment before Landard decides to lay down on the picnic table while he crosses his arms behind his head.

"Do you like this park," I'm going to take the risk of trying to get him to open up.

He doesn't answer. So, I try again.

" I rarely come out here," that's a fucking lie. Ever since he's been coming out to Manchester Park, I've been coming out here, too. " but when I do come out here, I jog for the strength training."

He doesn't reply. Now, I'm getting nervous again.

"Hey," I leap off the picnic table and walk over to the basketball player. This weird thought crossed my mind that this guy was passed out or something.

"Land?"


	4. Chapter 4

Landard turns his gaze toward me. I freeze like a criminal. There's no reason for us to be this close to each other. He's laid on his back in front of me and I'm standing a few inches away from his knees. This is awkward shit. But… I can't help noticing he's wearing cologne. I know it's not a big deal but I just caught a whiff it. It's not strong or anything. I'm standing pretty close so that's why I can smell it. But the scent is nice. Way better than the shit I spray on.

"What?"

Once I hear Landard's voice and see him moving to sit up, I immediately back off. I know he already thinks what happened was weird. The guy is looking at me like he wants an explanation to the little stunt I just pulled on him. I definitely invaded his personal space. But it wasn't on purpose. I actually thought he'd gone to sleep on me while I was speaking. I doubt he'll accept this excuse but it's the only one I have right now.

"Uh," of course, like an idiot, this is the first thing that comes out my fucking mouth, "I was just checking to see if you were still with me. You weren't saying anything."

He keeps a tense stare on me for awhile, just looking over my face and into my eyes. I can't take it anymore and eventually, I lose eye contact with him. I head back over to the picnic table, hoping somehow we can get past that bizarre moment. As I take a seat on the tabletop, I hear a loud popping sound not too far from us. I hear it again but this time it's much louder.

In the distance, some boys are riding up on the cement path. I know the guys. They're freshman with older brothers who play on the football team. The guy, who's obviously leading the pack, is Russell Sims. He has dark, brown hair that's cut in some pretty-boy hairstyle. Everything he wears has a logo on it. Even the bike he's riding, according to him, is expensive as hell. It's a Santa Cruz mountain bike with big, fat wheels and straight handle bars.

"Hey, Duncan, what are you doing out here with darkie," Russell shouts from the path. He throws a popper to the ground while grinning.

I'll admit, Russell doesn't normally act like this. With me, he's cool. He's the kind of guy that says sir and holds the door for people. When someone needs something, he offers to help. But then there's this side to him. It's the side of him I've seen before in a lot of people in this town. Like when the news is on, and they mention President Barack Obama, all I hear is the negative shit. You know, stuff like shit-skin and the N word.

"Just keep moving, Russell," I warn.

He throws another popper but much further this time.

"I want to get to know ol' darkie," the brat sends three more poppers our way.

"Come on black boy. Come here fellow!" The smirk on his face widens and I can tell he's having fun. He must have forgotten I know his brother. Nicholas has a reputation around campus. He's high on the ladder like me and if I told him his kid brother was being a prick to the star quarterback... well, Nicholas would kick his brother's ass. But I guess this arrogant little shit feels invincible right now.

"Let us get to know him," I watch the kid reach into his pocket. His goofy friends start laughing for some reason. " Come on and hold that black bitch down and let's put some poppers where the sun don't shine. We'll get real acquainted," he starts to laugh loudly.

There's no way in hell I'd let these fucking idiots do anything like that. What they're saying is twisted but I wouldn't put it pass them. Men in town have talked about hurting people like Landard all the time. They'd talk about cutting off a black guy's nuts and shoving it down his throat. Or wanting to cut their arms and legs off. Just gross shit. What's worse is I grew up hearing things like this everyday and every where. This crap leaves an impression in the mind. It can make someone think what's said is true and that it's normal to feel this way about a group of people. I guess Russell must have this idea he can say and do whatever he wants to someone like Landard.

"That's not going to happen and you know it. Just take your friends and go!"

They're all laughing while still throwing poppers. It's clear to me they aren't going to piss off. I turn to Landard. With his hand pressed to his forehead, I see him shaking his head. He looks angry and annoyed. I feel the exact same way.

"You wanna leave," I ask.

He nods and without another word said, we start walking through the trees and bushes.

"Aw, come on," Russell throws his hands up but is still laughing, "Don't leave. We were just getting started. Come back, darkie! I promise I won't hurt you too bad."

Some of the bushes scratch my legs. This itchy crap isn't bothering Landard because he's wearing dark blue jeans and a black, jersey jacket with a big R embroided on the back. Although the bugs aren't attacking his legs, he still has to swat some from around his head and face.

"Darkie! Darkie!"

The assholes are shouting this as they follow us on their bikes. They are staying on the path but I can see them beyond the bushes and trees. The path loops around for a few more feet and since we're taking a shortcut through the trees, I know we'll be ahead of the brain dead fucks. Really, if these idiots wanted to do what they claimed, their little asses wouldn't have taken the long way around to get to us. They would have headed straight our way. All this seems to be is a bunch of talk on their part. Russell has to know I'd kick his ass all the way to his house if he went as far as he's claiming.

"Come on!" They all shout at the same time. I hear rounds and rounds of poppers go off.

We reach the walkway. I look behind me and I don't see anyone. I don't hear the firecrackers going off anymore, so I believe we're out of the clear. I turn back to look at Landard who is standing really stiff. What he's seeing is suddenly looking me dead in the eyes. I knew this was going to happen. Manchester Park is a family park. It has a ton of fucking rules and one of the rules state fireworks aren't allowed.

"So, you're the two playing around out here?"

The officer looks like a giant. He's standing over me by a hell of alot of inches and even though Landard is pretty tall, the officer has him beat by a long shot. When he looks away from me, I watch his expression change. He looked awfully harsh while staring my way but when he sees Landard, a sinister look shadows his face. I watch his eyes narrow and he has this smug frown, like he's disgusted.

"I know you're new to this neighborhood boy but don't pretend you don't have any sense. Or are all you black kids just a bunch of rough housing animals?"

I stare straight at Landard. I'm expecting him to say something but he doesn't. Instead, he's giving an expression like he's completely fearless. He's not puffing out his chest like this asshole cop but I can see he isn't going to back down.

"You got something to say boy?" The cop places his hand on his holster. "Tell me why you're out here poppin' off fireworks?"

I realize this isn't how things work around here. Officers don't treat people like this. When my mom called the police about two guys fighting in a store, I witnessed the cops acting more responsible than just accusing someone for no reason. Something is wrong with this cop. Something is really wrong. And knowing this makes the situation more tense. I have to admit when I first saw him, my heart was pounding. Then, when he opened his mouth to speak, my heart started racing even more. I can literally feel the tension beaming off this guy. Even worse, me and Landard are standing alone with this lunatic.

I think if I were still back in middle school, I would have crumpled under the pressure. I used to hate confrontation. It always made me nervous. Just the thought of standing up for myself turned my stomach inside out. I'd sweat and tremble. My throat would tighten up. I wouldn't even have the courage to talk. I have to remind myself sometimes those days are over.

"Officer," I start out slow to gain momentum to begin this obvious faceoff, " we're not the ones with fireworks."

The cop keeps his eyes elsewhere but his words are directed at me, "You two came out of those trees. And I bet your friend right here has all the fireworks in his jacket."

"He doesn't, sir," I press the cop, "we don't have anything."

His stern eyes look at me. He gives an annoyed sigh and I take it he just wants me to shut the fuck up. "Alright kid. I know you're trying to be nice but you don't need to take the blame. Now if you want, I'll let you go on home. You don't have to stay for this."

"But..." I stop mid-sentence because I'm suddenly interrupted.

" I didn't do nothin'."

"What the hell did you say, boy?"

The cop reaches for Landard's jacket and grabs the collar, ripping it a bit. I just went from feeling a bit nervous, to feeling like my heart is going to jump up through my throat. This cop is moving so fast, my eyes can't keep up with his movements. I want to stop him from hurting Landard but this bastard has a gun. I know he could turn around and shoot me. Still, I can't let him get away with this! I know what I'm about to do is going to get me in serious trouble but I do it anyway. The cop has Landard on the ground, so the guy's back in facing my direction. Taking a deep breath, I jump on the cop's back and squeeze my arms around his neck. He immediately throws my ass to the ground. The look on his face is one of complete shock and anger. His chest is heaving like crazy. I stare up at him. I bet I look like a petrified dog. God, I don't know what he's going to do! Technically, I just assaulted an officer!

"You're going to pay for that shit, you fucking asshole!"

The cop grabs my front collar, lifting me up to stand on my feet. I'm trembling. My legs feel like they're about to break off. I watch this crazy bastard reach for his holster. Damn it, I pray he's not going to kill me! He wouldn't kill me, right? I shut my eyes tight, dreading what's going to happen next.

"Officer Smith," someone yells in the distance, " What the hell are you doing? What's going on?"

I recognize the voice. It's Officer Fairbanks. He's close to my mom and dad. But it's not the way he'd like it.

"Shit, Smith, put the boy down!" I suddenly notice he's walking with Russell and his group of friends. "I said I'd head toward the rear while you take the front. I caught these knuckle heads red handed. The firecrackers are in their pockets," he explains.

The cop release me after a minute. He runs a hand through his brown hair. I can tell he's nervous and he should be.

"I was…I was," he stutters, "I thought they…"

Officer Fairbanks walks over. He directs his eyes to Landard who is still on the ground. He shakes his head while hiding his face behind his big hand.

"Damn it, you can't be serious," he releases an irritated grumble, " Damn, it!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I...I over reacted," the jerk ass cop admits.

Officer Fairbanks drops his hand to his side. He looks at me and I know he's going to take a serious tone. "Now, listen here, Duncan. This shithead fucked up. I admit it. But can we just leave your mom and dad out of this. I'll handle the asshole myself but let's just keep this between you and me. Shall we?"

Like I said before, Officer Fairbanks knows my mom and dad well, but it's not the way he'd like it. They've been known to come to the police station about a lot of shit that no one in the police department likes to acknowledge. He knows my mom would be at the station if she heard about what just happened. Especially if she hears what happened to Landard.

"Can we leave now?" I ask sternly. The shock of the moment is gone and what I feel is complete anger.

"Yeah. Go ahead," Fairbanks nods to me, "And I'm sorry about all this Duncan. Okay?"

I ignore him. My concern isn't my feelings right now. I just want to make sure Landard is okay. That cop ripped his jacket and slammed him to the ground. As I walk with Landard out of the park, I spot a rip in his jeans near the knee section. I stop suddenly and point out the wound, " You're hurt."

Landard keeps walking which causes me to start my pace up again. I walk beside him, unable to direct my eyes anywhere else but on his scraped up knee. It's nothing really bad but he needs some gauze. I can't help but feel bad. I have this feeling this is all my fault. If I hadn't stopped to talk, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Russell wouldn't have noticed Landard at all. I was the one who caught his attention, causing him to stop and harass us.

I want to try and make this situation right. "There's a store not too far away. I have my wallet."

There's no answer from him. I won't deny his silence is making me feel even worse, but I'm going to keep trying.

"I could buy you something to wrap the wound up," I offer.

Landard suddenly stops walking. I follow his lead and stop, too. He finally turns to look at me. I find the courage to stare back. His eyes kind of remind me of a solar eclipse. It's like, I can't look at them for a long time. It doesn't hurt to stare at them. Landard has nice eyes. It's just...I don't know. I can't look at them for very long. To ease the tension I'm feeling, I glance away, focusing on something else that's behind him. Eventually, I drop my gaze to stare at my hands. He's still looking at me but hasn't said a word. I guess I offended him. He's really fucking hard to read.

"Look, if you don't want the help, just say so," is my pathetic reply. To be honest, I'm a little butt hurt by his rejection.

"What does yo mom and dad do?"

His question shocks me. Hearing his voice shocks me, too. Immediately, my entire mood perks up. I feel confident enough to make eye contact, " They're lawyers," is my answer.

"Oh," he seems satisfied with my reply because he starts walking again.

"Why do you ask," I want to keep this conversation going.

"Never saw cops get so scared like dat."

I keep my pace with Landard. We walk side by side down the walkway. A few cars pass by on the road. I notice people eyeing us but I ignore their stares.

"That's happened before to you?"

"Yeah, sometimes," he rubs the back of his neck with a pained expression and I think maybe that part of his neck is bothering him. "I'm used to it, though."

What we are talking about is some serious stuff. I mean, I shouldn't feel excited about a warped ass conversation about the police hurting people but this is the longest we've spoken. Normally, he's either silent or gives me one word answers. I realize this maybe my only chance at getting to know him.

"You know, you shouldn't have to get used to stuff like that."

My words make him stop walking. He's doing the staring thing again and I'm returning the look. We're silent like this for a few minutes. It's strange. Like, really strange. To my surprise, I can't turn away this time. I keep looking at him until the sound of his voice causes me to blink.

"Yeah, well, I'mma go," he announces out of the blue.

I'm disappointed as hell. Hearing him say that caused all the air in my lungs to rush out. It's like he hit me in the fucking stomach.

"You sure," I try to stale this guy, "I mean, we can still hang out."

"Nah, I'm alrigh'."

Landard walks away, leaving me on the sidewalk. I watch from a distance as he crosses the street and heads home alone. Today was horrible. It was downright fucked up but I think I made gains. That's the only good part about today. Tomorrow? I don't know about tomorrow, but I hope tomorrow Landard will be more open to talking to me.


	5. More Details

It's been two weeks after the park incident, and me and Landard talk sometimes. Well, let me be honest, it's not really talking. He says hey and I reply back with either an uh or hey in return. All I can say is that this is progress. He's still the oyster I can't seem to pry open but at least there's now a tiny crack in his shell.

Just yesterday, I thought why I was doing all this. Why am I trying so hard to get him to open up? I technically could call it quits on this whole mission to prove Nick wrong. Landard isn't mean because he's black. He's not mean at all. And yet, I can't seem to get beyond that point because I want others to realize the same thing. I want Nick and the guys to see Landard the way I do. So, I guess, it's fair to say my crazy self-proclaimed mission isn't over.

As bad as I want to get the ball rolling on this new endeavor, the pep rally today spoiled my chance of talking to Landard. We are in the gymnasium and I'm sitting up in the stands. Everyone on the football team enjoys the high seats. We're like Caesar watching over all the screaming and dancing lamebrains. I have to admit, the pep rallies were exciting my freshman year but I'm over this shit now. The cheerleaders and the mascot routine gets old. It's the same theme as last year. Girls half dressed come on the dance floor, perform their splits and cheers while the newest pop song blares in the background. And the fucking looney tune mascot bounces up and down in front of everyone, trying his best to get the crowd to scream their head off. It's like watching a rerun of a bad movie.

"I like the girl on the far left," Victor says loudly in my ear. The noise from everyone makes it hard to hear anything.

"Yeah," is my response. I'm keeping things simple because Victor is a massive talker and not in a good way.

"Yeah," he says, "She's pretty. Like slutty pretty. You know," his teeth are huge in his mouth and a grin from him looks weird. I turn away to stare at the crowd of cheerleaders. I can't tell which one he's talking about and could care less.

"Okay," I'm surprised my one word answer only pushes our conversation further.

"I'd like to fuck her," Victor continues, "Like doggie style. And pull her hair while I do her from behind," He nudges my side, "I bet she'd tag us both!"

I'm relieved when an ear-splitting bull horn interrupts Victor's dirty talk. The school marching band starts to walk out from behind two doors. The drummers are leading and following them are a few saxophone and trumpet players. Steven, one of the linebackers, jumps up from the bench. He pumps his fist up and down, shouting loudly, "They brought the band out!"

_They did bring the band out!_

_This is new!_

Victor lifts to his feet to get a closer look. His pointing leads others to point and about five of the guys are all pointing and shouting. I stand up eventually because I don't want to miss what's happening. Below us, the band has made two parallel lines marking the entrance to the main doors. The band is playing like they mean business. It's not the slow crap that makes you feel like you want to plug your fingers in your ear and die already. The beat is fast paced and it's causing everyone around me to start hollering.

"This is crazy," Victor looks at me with a wide grin.

"Hell yeah," I'm just as excited as him.

"Everyone scream," someone says from a mic.

The whole gymnasium is going berserk. The screaming is so loud, there's no distinction anymore. The entire school is one big voice and we sound like we are being blasted from a surround sound speaker.

"Let me welcome Luke Berry High's finest! Come out here everyone!"

Nick is standing in front of me but he's one bench below mine. I can see above his head but I want an even better view. So, I place both my hands on his shoulders and lean forward, using him as leverage. Big, tall guys start rushing out from the entrance door. They leap up and pump their fist in the air as they come to the center of the gymnasium. One by one, I watched each guy run out from the two arched doors. Then, suddenly, I see him. The hairs on my arms raise. I press myself forward too much and end up causing Nick to push his buff back against me.

"What's your problem? You almost fell!"

I don't say anything. I can't say anything right now. My mouth feels like it could be glued shut. For a few moments, I just stare. In the sea of white faces and bodies, Landard stands out immediately. A ball is thrown to the court and a tall white player catches the ball. There are only five people on the court but I know our basketball team is bigger than this. The person on the mic said these players were our finest. Landard is down there because he obviously has some skill.

The white guy with the ball shoots from the two point area and doesn't miss. The crowd around me starts cheering insanely. He passes the ball to another guy and just like the first one, he makes the shot easily. It's now Landard's turn. The ball is passed to him and to my complete shock, the whole gymnasium is dead silent. It's so fucking quiet, the only thing heard is the ball being dribbled. The constant thumping of the ball hitting the waxed floor makes my heart pound just a bit faster. I clench Nick's shoulder blades as I watch Landard slowly bounce the ball to his left hand and then to his right. He does this slow dribble for about a minute before I see his body move like Flash. He zips to the right, like he's dodging a real person. Landard amazes me when he dribbles to the three point line.

My grip on Nick quickly tightens. I hold my breath, hoping this shot goes in. Landard leaps up and lets the ball go. It has a good angle toward the basket. I keep my eyes on the ball until I see it land right where it should. And once it goes in, I fist pump the air, shouting loudly from my bench. I'm not the only one cheering, either. What Landard just did caused the drummers to play even louder. The cheerleaders run out to stand in front, swirling their pompoms and kicking up their legs.

Victor looks at me. He's all red gums and teeth. " That was amazing! Did you see that?"

"Yeah. And from the three point line," I add.

"So the fuck what," my friend says bitterly.

Nick's arms are crossed over his big chest. This guy is an inflated balloon. He's so full of hot air right now, I'm surprised he hasn't turned around and let one of us have an ear full. Like I said before, Nick's a fighter last but a faultfinder first. Of course, he wouldn't approve of Landard's performance. I know Nick. He's hard. Just imagine a massive boulder and in the center of the boulder is Nick's approval.

When we were kids, it took nothing to befriend Nick. We'd play hide and seek and chase each other for hours. I'd always win but he'd just beg to play some more. Then, in middle school, he became tougher. It was even difficult for me sometimes to keep him from biting off my head. I already know getting Nick to accept Landard is going to be a challenge. I really just think if they talked to each other, Nick would realize how wrong he's been this whole time. But talking to Landard isn't easy and Nick doesn't look like he's going to budge. So, I'm officially going to act as the middleman―which is cool with me.

"Landard did a good job. That's all we're saying," I explain.

Nick snaps his teeth. He was upset before but now I've pissed him off. His gaze turns to me. I'm used to his glares. He's all squinted eyes and frowning. Typical Nick.

"He made a fucking shot. All the guys made a shot. I don't see what's the uproar about his shit!"

I don't say anything else. When my friend is like this, it's best to just listen to the crap and talk to him later. Thankfully, the pep rally is over and the bottom rows are heading out. I bend down to grab my backpack. Nick is still talking nonsense.

"He thinks he's better. He could have took a shot from the same area everyone else did. Damn show off. No one gives a fuck about basketball anyway!"

I shake my head. He's annoyed for no damn reason. Landard had every right to choose where he wanted to shot the ball. Maybe the other guys were comfortable shooting it from the two point area. Landard obviously felt he could do better, so he did better. Personally, I've never seen anyone move like him. He was so damn fast! Only professional guys, like the ones from the NBA, move the way Landard was moving on the court.

" I hope they kick his ass off the team!" Nick slings his backpack onto his shoulder.

I was ready to tell Nick how stupid he sounds but he walks away before I can say anything. I head down the bleachers with Victor who is still excited about the band and the basketball players. I half listen to his rambling. The only thing I can focus on is Landard.

* * *

 

When the last bell rings, I'm already in the hallway. I know Landard isn't the type of guy to mingle and chat. Normally, after school, he puts his stuff in his locker and heads for the bike rack. I want to intersect his usual routine today. Just as I predicted, Landard comes out of his classroom. He makes a straight line right to his locker.

A couple of weeks ago, I'll accept the fact Landard had the ability to shatter my confidence. I'm not saying I didn't have the balls to approach him. I'm only saying I would become super nervous about the whole thing. I compared it to feeling like a bubbling damn volcano in the inside. Things have changed just a little. I don't feel like my insides are bubbling―it's more like a low simmering.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I want to believe this will get easier. It has to get easier. Very quickly, I run my hand through my brown hair in hopes this will ease my tension. The shit does nothing. I'm still simmering. As I move closer to Landard, the pounding in my chest intensifies. I don't know why the hell I get like this. It's not like Landard going to take me out or anything. He's an easy going guy. He's just hard to read sometimes. I never know what's really up with him.

"Hey Land," I push my courage to the forefront. I'm relieved my voice doesn't sound shaky. And I didn't start this with a fucking uh.

The locker is wide open. I can't see his face because the metal door is hiding it from me. When I don't get a response, my uneasiness picks up even more. After almost a month, I keep thinking he'd be more responsive but I should know better by now never to assume anything with Landard.

" You were great on the court during the pep rally," I state the obvious, " I thought you weren't interested in joining a team."

The sound of the locker door slamming shut throws me off a bit. I take what I just said wasn't to his liking. Now that there's no boundary between us, I can see his face. The stare he gives is like all the other ones he's given. His clear, brown eyes search me as if they're metal detectors. It's always a quick scan up and down. Then, the piercing one-to-one gaze that normally is the ultimate deal breaker for me.

I'm already shifting my position to keep from looking like a complete dumb ass in front of him. I turn sideways, pressing my back against the locker that's next to his. I pretend his dead-on focus doesn't bother me by folding my arms across my chest. I prop my right leg against the bottom lockers, posing like a complete dickstick. I'm over doing this. I know I am. But he has me really nervous. And when I'm nervous, I over think things.

"I changed my mind," he tells me. His voice is deep and gruff as usual. And there's not a hint of unease in the way he talks. It's all smooth and easy.

"Okay," I hesitate and try to think of something else to say.

We aren't looking at each other, but I still feel his eyes on me. I swallow hard before speaking again. "I wouldn't mind playing ball with you," I confess.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him putting on his backpack. He's staring with one brow raised.

"You play football, though," is the reminder.

"Yeah, I know," I tell him, "but I played basketball for awhile before I joined the football team."

God damn, I'm a fucking liar. I'm exaggerating by a long shot. I played basketball once or twice in middle school. It wasn't even a game. It was just basic practice. You know, the whole learn how to bounce the ball―crap like that. I know I shouldn't tell him things that aren't true. My mom always told me lies never get a person anywhere. It's easier to remember the truth than it is a lie. Karma will have to forgive me. It's not like I'm lying about something serious.

" Alrigh'," Landard gives me a nod, "Let's go."

The basketball court is scorching hot. Landard takes off his shirt once we get there. When he has his shirt on, it's hard to tell the size of his shoulders. Right now, I can see how huge they look. They aren't bodybuilder big but they are tight and rounded. He's really wide up top but narrow toward his waist. I didn't know playing basketball could give anyone a six pack. I have abs myself but his are really defined. They're so defined, I could take a ruler and point each one out.

"Do you go to the gym," I have to ask this question because I can't believe just playing basketball has Landard's body looking like a pro athlete.

"I play ball. That's it," is his reply.

I run my hand through my hair. My fucked up nerves are returning because I can see Landard bouncing the basketball. I guess this is what I get for lying. He's ready to play ball like a fucking pro and I'm ready to embarrass myself like a clown. I know this won't end well but I have to try. Just like at the park, this is the most he's spoken to me. So, I'm not going to screw this opportunity up.

It's obvious I'm playing defense. I outstretch my arms on either side of me, attempting with all my might to block his way to the basket. He dribbles slowly in front, bouncing the ball back and forth like he wants me to come get it. I could take it. I could go right in for the ball and make it to the hoop. My legs just go with the flow. I take the risk of dropping my defense to gain the ball. And in seconds, literally seconds, he dodges me by swinging to my left. He dribbles the ball right up to the net and slams it in. Seeing him do this makes me feel like Landard just drop kicked me in the nuts.

"I let you have that one," I try to regain some of my pride that he just snatched from me.

We're back at it again. I'm on defense and he's offensive. He's doing the slow dribble again and I want to try one more time to snatch the ball right from under him. Once I let my guard down, he dodges to the right but I anticipate the move. I'm able to block this time. He keeps his distance and just decides to shoot from the three-point line. I turn around to watch if the ball makes it in.

The ball makes it in!

"Fuck," I grumble.

Landard starts again. I don't even wait for his class act dribble skills. I'm taking an aggressive approach. We're bumping each other. My shoulder hits his occasionally as I try to keep him from the net. I know if he gets fed up with my defense, he'll try for the three-point line. Just like I predicted, he lines himself up for the shot. He leaps up, just like he did in the gymnasium, and then releases the ball. I jump as high as I can in order to block it.

My effort pays off. I finally have the ball in my hand. Without any hesitation, I take it to the hoop. I try for the shot but miss horribly. The ball hits the rim and Landard tries for another three-point goal. This time he makes it in. All the air inside of me leaves my lungs. I bend forward and grab my knees. I'm ashamed that even when I was right under the hoop, I still missed the shot. I can only imagine Landard thinks I'm a damn loser.

"Stick to football," he taunts.

I look up at Landard. Underneath the sun, he's like a shimmering, bronze statue. Sweat is dripping down his face and along his chest. I can't be mad about what he said. He's right to tell me to stick to football. Basketball certainly isn't a sport where I reign supreme. This is Landard's territory and I have to hand it to him, he's good at ball. Just like I'm good at football. We both have a drive in us. We take the shit seriously. I mean, he could have went easy on me and let me have at least one shot. But he didn't. Because great players always play hard.

"You're good, Land," I congratulate as I wipe sweat from my forehead, "Like serious. You're awesome!"

Landard grabs his shirt from the cement. He starts to dress without saying anything else to me. I watch him silently. Now, I'm confused. He's packing up the basketball like he's ready to leave. I guess because I'm no good at this, the game is over.

"Are you leaving?"

Landard is still silent. He tugs the backpack on his shoulder.

"Really? What did I say this time?"

The last thing I should do is pressure him. I know I wouldn't want someone questioning my actions. But seriously, this guy can't be leaving right now. We were just talking.

"Come on, Land!"

Not one word comes out of his mouth. He starts to walk away. I'm no longer slightly simmering. My insides are like a damn typhoon. I can't possibly think straight. My impulse says to grab and just try to stop him. I take hold of his forearm while he's still facing away from me. Of course, within seconds, Landard's eyes are meeting mine. We are staring at each other like time has frozen us in place. I can't move right now. I'm not even taking a breath. Like always, his stares rattle me every time.

"Let go," is the stern command.

I back off straightaway. My hand releases him and I feel incredibly embarrassed. I have to look like a lunatic to Landard. Like, he must see me as a crazy person. And I feel as if I'm acting irrationally. This isn't normal. I'm pushing myself too hard on him. It's like I'm forcing it.

"I'm sorry," I apologize while lowering my gaze, "If I said something to offend you, I'm sorry, okay. I was only telling you the truth. You are good and it shows you take basketball seriously."

"Why you apologizin'?"

"I thought I said something to make you upset," his question shocks me because I figured I certainly ruined this whole moment.

"I gotta go home," is his answer, "that's all. We're cool, Duncan."

I stare at Landard's fleeing figure. He's walking toward the bike rack. The words he just said keeps ringing in my ear.

_We're cool, Duncan._

_We're cool…_

I smile as I watch him ride away on his bike. 


End file.
